


The Greatest Films of All Time

by oneshinyapple



Category: Black Cat (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, Secret Identity, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited, but also requited, non-linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneshinyapple/pseuds/oneshinyapple
Summary: Sometimes she wonders why it happens still. How easy it can be to fall back into old patterns, old habits, and old feelings. Why there are days that the slightest flash of red and blue (or especially black) could drag her right back to where she used to be when she had been young, dumb, and in love.  (She’s still young, still dumb, and the latter is somewhat debatable.)PeterFelicia Week 2020 Day 1: Midnight Rendezvous
Relationships: Felicia Hardy/Peter Parker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51
Collections: PeterFelicia Week 2020





	The Greatest Films of All Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for PeterFelicia Week 2020 Day 1: Midnight Rendezvous with the bonus themes Identity and Unrequited.
> 
> Features non-linear storytelling, an unreliable narrator, and me trying out another writing experiment.
> 
> There's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Pb0VNzOAuyGFMI3yJFSMx?si=5HsFoF4hTZqwA-d2RLv_QA).

_0_

Sometimes she wonders why it happens still. How easy it can be to fall back into old patterns, old habits, and old feelings. Why there are days that the slightest flash of red and blue (or especially black) could drag her right back to where she used to be when she had been young, dumb, and in love. (She’s still young, still dumb, and the latter is somewhat debatable.)

She’s gotten better at eluding him over the years, mostly because they tend to move in different circles. She favors all the shiniest parts of Manhattan—the glitzy Midtown high-rises, the fancy Upper East Side town houses, the penthouses in Tribeca. He spends more time in dark alleys, haunting decrepit old buildings on the verge of collapse, and all other the parts of itself that New York tries its best to ignore.

But every now then, he swings past, crossing her path on his way to a mugging or fire or some knock-out superhuman scramble. When it happens, her breath catches in her throat for a moment and she forgets what she’s even doing (fleeing the scene of a crime, usually). It’s only after he’s disappeared from view, when the sirens of the city start wailing, that she remembers to move again.

\+ +

She steals the Dragon’s Heart from Wilson Fisk’s private collection because Doctor Strange asks her to. He even pays, though she doesn’t ask him how he can afford her fee. She supposes it must be a big deal and was told that it’s powerful enough to grant wishes. For something so dangerous, she finds it easily enough, nestling inside its glass case surrounded by so many motion sensors, thermal sensors, and pressure sensors that even the merest breath would set off alarms (if she hadn’t disabled them already). It’s a massive ruby the size of her fist, twisted, fractured, and oddly shaped.

_It’s not even pretty._

In the back of her mind, she hears Stephen Strange’s warning, stern but already half-absent, beginning to dismiss her in favor of whatever mystical things he has seen beyond her and the world they’re in.

_“Do not touch it with your bare hands, Ms. Hardy.”_

As if she goes around leaving her fingerprints all over the place. As if she doesn’t know better, anyway. No object, no matter how powerful, could ever grant even the most trivial wish for free. Besides, what could the Black Cat—the best thief in town—want that she can’t just reach out and take for herself?

It takes less than three minutes for her to get the case open, disable the independent spring mechanism beneath the pedestal, and replace the misshapen gem with a glass replica that would not pass any actual scrutiny.

She holds it in her hand for a moment. _Make a wish, Felicia,_ she thinks whimsically before tucking it inside the pouch clipped to her belt. She looks around her, at the Kingpin’s treasures, more than a little smug about another flawless job. It would take him days to realize what has happened—and it’s just one of the reasons why he’s Felicia’s favorite kind of target. If you take beautiful things only to lock them up and ignore them, then you don’t deserve them at all. There was also the fact that Wilson Fisk is a thief himself—the worst kind who steals from those who already have nothing. Felicia can talk herself into believing it’s justice, and it satisfies the little voice in the back of her head just enough to shut it up. 

The little voice that always sounds too much like a certain wallcrawler. A voice that she hasn’t heard outside of her head in a while.

Felicia pauses and remembers the last time she had. It’s easier to recall than she thought it would be, even though she’s succeeded in not thinking about it so far. All the scenes from that night still played in her mind in excruciating detail. How long had it been? Two weeks? Three? All the days have blurred together since.

_Not here, Felicia. Get out. Get the job done. Move on._

But her feet are rooted to the spot, refusing all her brain’s commands. She _remembers_ and, suddenly, the gem at her waist feels almost unbearably heavy.

-

There was a time when she knew more than this, Felicia recalls, brushing her thumb across one thick eyebrow, down the crooked bridge of a previously broken nose. The blackout curtains in the hotel room have been drawn and it’s nearly pitch black—too dark to make out the face of the man trailing kisses down her neck even if she hadn’t promised not to look. She runs her fingers through his hair, through the waves already tousled and tangled by her fingers. She’s seen him banged up in a ripped-up suit enough times to know the color of those locks would be a deep, rich brown.

“What are you thinking about, Felicia?” the Spider whispers against her skin. “I must be doing something wrong if you’re getting distracted.”

“Sorry, Spider. Just thinking about someone else.”

His hand around the side of her waist tightens just a little. “Anyone I know?” he asks, his breath hot on her shoulder.

“Maybe.”

“Are they more handsome than me?” he asks, thoughtless, as if Felicia knows his face.

“I should hope so.”

The hand on her waist slides lower. “Do they look as good in a form-fitting black suit as me?”

“Hmm…About the same.”

He hums against her throat. “Do they have a bigger—”

Felicia groans, wraps her legs around his hips, and flips them both over. “Why do men think that’s all that matters?”

“That would be a no, right?”

“You’re not that special, mister.”

“It’s definitely a no.”

She stares down at his shadowy form, just a little bit annoyed. She’s also seen his mouth beneath his rolled-up mask often enough that it’s easy to imagine how the smug smirk she can hear in his voice would look in the light. But that’s as far as her imagination can go, and it’s more than a little frustrating—it’s downright offensive.

 _What have you done, Spider? How could_ you _steal from_ me _?_

His hands reach around her, fingertips burning into the ridges of her spine. “Felicia?” he asks, genuine concern finally creeping into his voice. “I can go if you’ve changed your mind.”

“We’re having fun, aren’t we, Spider?” she asks. She absently skims her fingers across his clavicle and feels him shudder at her touch.

“Y-yeah,” he says warily. “I mean, _I_ am. Aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying we could have _more_.”

“Felicia…”

“So, can I borrow a webshooter?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I only need one.”

“No.”

“Look, you can keep the other. Fastest draw wins.”

“Wins _what_?”

She smirks. “Come on, don’t be a coward, Spider-Man.”

He rolls them over again, the move smooth and effortless. His hands slide up her arms and pin her by the wrists on either side of her head. “Who are you calling a coward?”

“What, you don’t think you can shoot fast enough?”

“I am _not_ setting myself up for that joke.”

Felicia bats her eyelashes, even though he probably couldn’t see it. “Don’t you trust me, Spider?”

“About as far as I can throw you, Cat,” he says. Then he sighs and rolls off the bed, anyway. “But—I guess you know—I can throw people pretty far.”

The webshooter is cold around her wrist and it turns out he’s modified the triggers to require his super-strength to tap. But when her bad luck powers kick in, the one he’s wearing inexplicably bursts, and the game ends in a draw. It’s messy and annoying and the sheets are irredeemably ruined, but they find their way to the shower and end up laughing in the dark. Eventually, the laughing turns to kissing and, for once, maybe Felicia doesn’t mind not winning after all.

+

Felicia runs into Peter Parker in a deserted laundromat—of all places—and it’s more surreal than running into him during, say, a superhuman slugfest on the moon.

He’s shoving coins into a washer while stifling a yawn with the back of his hand when she walks in with a bag full of clothes. And even though she’s not there to rob the place or cause any other kind of trouble (not on purpose, not at that moment), his spine snaps straight and his eyes narrow ever so slightly.

It's funny how she knows what every tiny shift of muscle and change in expression means when she couldn’t even remember his face until recently. But then, secret identity revelation or no, she’s always known him better than he knows her.

He glances around him and finally meets her gaze, his face settling into mild surprise and wry amusement. He looks tired, there’s a fading bruise on his cheek, and his hair is sticking up every which way. But his eyes are warm. “You know, for some reason, I never pictured you doing your own laundry.”

“Please,” Felicia drawls, slowly stepping closer, “tell me how you _do_ picture me.”

He looks down, shuffles his feet, but Felicia suspects the familiar sheepish grin that follows is a bit more calculated than it seems. A deflection tactic more than genuine embarrassment. Obvious when he’s always so quick to accept flirtation at face value—which she has previously, repeatedly, exploited. “So, what brings you here?” he asks, choosing to completely ignore what she said. “Don’t you hire people to do this for you?”

Felicia glances at him over her shoulder as she loads a machine. “Sometimes. Sometimes, I’d rather not track evidence all over my place, and some things are too…delicate to leave to someone else.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re machine-washing spandex.”

Felicia shoots him an irritated glance. “How long do you think I’ve been doing this?”

Peter holds his hands up, laughing. “Okay, okay. No unsolicited laundry advice.”

“ _Thank_ you, Spi—Peter.”

He gives her an odd look and moves away to finish loading his own clothes. She’s not used to being around him when they’re both out of their suits—not outside of bed, anyway. For the past few years, they’ve been occasional work allies, sometimes friends (with benefits), enemies—every now and then—and little else. All the other things they were had been locked away until the night he had unmasked for her again.

“Hey.”

Felicia looks up.

“I’m gonna grab some dinner. Wanna join me?”

Felicia blinks at him. “It’s midnight.”

“A very late dinner. A midnight snack. Whatever.” He sticks his hands in his pocket.

“Won’t Red be looking for you?”

“She’s in LA.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what this is about? Are you feeling lonely?”

“We’re friends, right? We can hang out. No world-ending emergency or crimes in progress necessary.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I guess I can do you a favor, just this once.”

He grins that same crooked grin that had led her into making so many bad decisions and holds out an arm with a sweeping flourish.

Felicia hooks her own around it. She’s older, presumably smarter, and she really should know better than to let the butterflies in her stomach get out of control—but they flutter all the same. “So where are you taking me?”

“There’s a hotdog place at the corner—”

“I let you take me out once in a blue moon and we’re getting _hotdogs_?”

But he’s already dragging her out the door, ignoring her protests.

Peter buys hotdogs and drinks. He realizes he’s short two dollars, so Felicia ends up essentially paying for herself. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by this, shamelessly keeping eye contact, sipping on his pina colada, while Felicia hands over the money. 

They drift back out into the night and he nods at a brick building across the street. “Rooftop? We can keep an eye on our laundry at the same time.”

“Leave it to you to know where to find all the best views.”

“You mock me now but you’ll hate it if someone runs off with all your clean clothes,” he says, walking backwards onto the street.

Felicia follows him into an alley and up a rickety fire escape. They’re in their civilian clothes so they make their way up the normal way—even though they probably jump a little bit higher and move a little bit faster than normal people would.

“Breathtaking,” Felicia says dryly, dropping herself next to him on the edge of the roof, the laundromat’s neon sign across the street below them.

“I’ll book us at the Four Seasons next time,” he says, placing their drinks between them.

She freezes for a second and looks at him out of the corner of her eye. He thinks nothing of what he just said—a defining character flaw that Felicia’s had time to get used to—and Felicia wonders if he even remembers what they did the last time they broke into a room there.

“So, what’s up with you?” Peter asks, barreling on thoughtlessly. “Caused any trouble lately?”

She frowns, staring down into her drink. The Guild’s been on her ass since the last time Spider-Man and the Black Cat teamed up to thwart them, but if she tells him that, he’ll stick his nose in—which is the last thing she wants. Spider-Man has a way of making everything about him, and the Guild was _her_ thing. Her problem to fix. Her wasp’s nest to poke.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to imply that’s all you do,” Peter says, misunderstanding her silence.

“Please, I’d be insulted if you insinuate that I’m losing my touch.”

He laughs at that and Felicia tips her head to one side. She reaches out without thinking and strokes the spot on his cheek, mottled browns and greens. “What about you? Who got in a lucky hit?”

“Herman in the Bronx. Or—Wait. I think this may be from a car Mac Gargan threw at me, actually.”

“You’re getting slow, lover.”

He shrugs, circles her wrist in a loose grip, and gently pulls her hand away from his face. “I’m still fast enough,” he says quietly.

Felicia picks up her juice, just to keep both hands occupied, and they eat for a while in silence, legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the roof. Several times, he turns his head and gets that familiar look in his eyes, tuning in to a signal meant for him and him alone. But he doesn’t leave, even though he’s already finished eating.

“You know you can go punch a mugger if you want,” Felicia says when it happens for the third time. “It’s not like I wanted to hang out with you.”

“What? No…” He frowns, dark brows knitting together. “No, it’s quiet. I just had a funny feeling.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when something explodes three blocks away, a yellow flash briefly illuminating the night sky. Someone screams.

“You should trade that old spider-sense in for a newer model,” Felicia says, getting to her feet.

“Tell me about it,” he sighs, his mask already down to his nose. “Well. This has been fun. We should do it again some time.”

“People usually tell me that while they’re putting their clothes _on_ ,” she says, slurping the last of her drink as he wriggles out of his jeans.

“You coming?” he asks, webbing his clothes in a bundle and sticking them in a corner.

“My equipment’s back at my place, but I’ll catch up.”

“Might not have to. I’m sure I’ll be done in time to pull my clothes out of the washer.”

“I don’t think you should be thinking about your laundry at this time.”

“There’s a laundromat _etiquette_ , Cat.”

Another explosion one block further than the last rocks the streets and she sees his mouth twist in a grimace.

She moves in closer, before he can tug his mask the rest of the way down, and kisses him softly on the cheek.

“Felicia—?”

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get there,” she says, pulling the mask the rest of the way down for him.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“New York City’s biggest idiot.”

“Touché,” he says, and swings his way off the roof. He stretches out a hand on his downward arc and webs the door of the empty laundromat shut as he passes.

He would _definitely_ do something stupid—most likely within three seconds of reaching the scene. She watches him let go of his webline and, for a moment, he falls and Felicia stops breathing. Then with a _thwip_ and a rush of air, he rises again, an arresting figure in bright red and blue. _Breathtaking,_ Felicia had said. And he quite literally is. She’s pretty sure five years from now, or even ten, he’ll still be taking her breath away.

The building she’s on shakes at the sound of a third explosion, this time closer than the first, and Felicia feels the first sliver of fear worm its way into her heart.

 _Forget the suit. Forget the equipment,_ her mind screams, and she jumps after him the next instant. He’s already too far ahead, moving further still with every second. But Felicia keeps running, willing her legs to move faster than they have ever moved in her life. She can’t explain the sudden pit of dread in her stomach, spurring her on. She might not make it in time to stop him from doing something reckless, but she has to be there to help him if she could, whether he wants her to or not.

\- -

She’s a block away from the scene of her last crime by the time she hears sirens in the distance. The police would be looking in all the wrong places (not up, never up, even after all this time) but she stays low as she flees, her heart thrumming in her chest in exhilaration. She flexes her knees, jumps, and rolls onto another roof.

“Bit late for a workout, isn’t it, Cat?”

Felicia feels the smile split her face as she finds her footing, the familiar voice sending a thrill up her spine. “Just out for a little midnight stroll, Spider. Same as you,” she says, and finally looks up.

Spider-Man is sitting on the low barrier running around the edge of the roof, one knee drawn up with his arm resting across it, the perfect picture of relaxation for anyone who doesn’t know just how fast he can move. He cocks his head in her direction. “ _Not_ the same as me. See, _I_ left my wallet at home. _You_ , on the other hand, are running around New York’s skyline with probably something worth a million dollars on you.”

“Too bad,” Felicia says, ignoring half the things he just said. She flips her hair over her shoulder. “I was going to let you buy me a drink.”

Sirens wail down the street, coming closer, and he glances in their direction. “What about a dance instead? Now, while they’re playing your song.”

She puts a hand to her chest and blinks coyly. “Why, Spider. As much as I’d love to, you’d have to catch me first.”

He moves. He could surely have caught her despite her somersaulting over to the next rooftop if her bad luck powers hadn’t kicked in just then. His shin slams into the concrete edge, his customary grace absent, and he clumsily topples over the edge, yelling her name.

She almost stops and turns back, worried, but the slap of a hand against the side of the building and the swearing coming ever closer tells her he’s alright. Not to mention pissed.

She grins to herself and starts to run, confident that he’ll follow. 

It’s her favorite game, this chase. There was a time when the chase would always end the same way—with the two of them in the same bed, tangled up in sheets and limbs and Felicia’s moonlight-silvered hair. The only question was which hotel they (Felicia) would have to break into. There was always some token protest from the Spider, a half-hearted reminder that what they were doing was technically wrong. But she understands him well enough to know that so long as no one gets hurt, abstract principles, morals, and ethics are all extremely malleable things.

These days, the outcome isn’t at all a given. So she draws it out, calling on every dirty trick in the book—anything to make it last just one minute longer.

She risks a glance over her shoulder and is startled to find him less than a block away, in mid-swing. _That’s no good,_ Felicia thinks, and narrows her eyes.

His webline snaps.

She bounces off a tarp over an old pizzeria as he plummets.

“I can’t believe you did that!” she hears him yell indignantly behind her.

Felicia chuckles, somersaulting over a narrow gap between two buildings, refusing to make it easy for him. She’s just launching into another leap when it happens. She hears the _thwip!_ She feels the tug. She has time to think, as she falls backward, absently wondering how the hell he managed to get ahead of her, that _this is going to hurt_.

Except it doesn’t. Another _thwip,_ a thin strand of web on her chest, and another tug sets her right back on her feet.

"Got you," Spider-Man says from two yards away, his voice almost a whisper.

"Seems like you do, Spider," Felicia agrees. "Now, if you don't mind—”

He cuts the line loose at the same time he pulls on another she hadn’t noticed—this time attached to her little pouch with the prize. “What’s in this?” he asks, not sounding curious in the least as he holds up the small bag. “Diamonds? Jewelry? Some expensive new tech?”

Felicia frowns. “Nothing that would interest you.”

More sirens in the background, at least a couple of them blaring from the street below. “Who did you steal it from? It seems to have drawn out half the police force.”

“Figures,” Felicia snorts. “And it doesn’t matter. I’m not returning it. Why would I when it’s already been stolen a thousand times over just to get here?”

“Right, and you think—what—screw the original owner?”

Felicia rolls her eyes. It’s always difficult to predict how willing the Spider is to let her activities slide, regardless of her motives. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even bother asking her about why she was doing it, going straight for righteous indignation and lectures that he should _know_ never work. Every time, his inclination to assume the worst only ever triggered her spite.

“Felicia?”

She sighs. “The original owner isn’t around to care anymore.”

“Maybe I should hang on to it for a while.”

“Sure, but the bag and I are kind of a package deal.”

“Sounds like less of a con and more of a pro to me.”

Felicia perks up and raises her eyebrows. Is it going to be one of _those_ nights? she wonders, because that’s a clear invitation if she’s ever heard one. “You feeling lonely tonight, Spider?” she asks idly, knowing full well what the answer, if he were ever to be completely honest, would be.

He takes a step closer, the pouch dangling negligently from his fingers. He’s so close that Felicia is sure she could snatch it back if she wants. She could grab it, slow him down with some exceptional bad luck, and leave him cursing in the dust.

Spider-Man moves closer still. “I don’t know, Felicia,” he says, and the eyes on his mask glint in the moonlight. “Do you _want_ to get caught?”

Felicia smirks and looks his mask in the eyes. “That depends,” she says, lifting a hand and slowly stroking the spider embossed on his chest. “What happens after I am?”

His breathing is suddenly just a little too even, too slow. Deliberate. “Ideally? Jail.”

She throws her head back and laughs, aware of how his gaze dips down to her throat, and then down even further. “ _Whose_ ideals? Because I know it’s not yours.”

“Do you, now? You think I’m an open book?”

“I can tell when a guy is checking out my boobs, whether I can see his eyes or not.”

He bursts into laughter, surprising her. “You’re one of a kind, Felicia Hardy.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t,” he promises solemnly before turning his back to her. “Well?”

Felicia blinks at him, sees the way he’s bent in expectation, shoulders steady and feet apart. She grins and jumps up without warning, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“ _Ow._ You could be a little bit nicer to my back.”

“I promise to be nicer to _other_ parts of you, is that enough?”

He turns his head to look back at her. “ _How_ much nicer?” Even with the mask, she can tell that he’s waggling his eyebrows.

Felicia snorts. “You know, Jonah’s right about you.”

“Why are you bringing him up at a time like this?” he complains, hiking her legs up higher around his waist as he scans the buildings in front of them. “And he’s right about what?”

“Spider, don’t get distracted.”

He sighs and shoots a web at a nearby skyscraper. “Where to?”

She bites her lip, consulting her internal map. “The Four Seasons is the closest.”

“We’ve already been banned from the Mandarin _and_ the Ritz. You really wanna try that one next?”

“We didn’t even do _anything_ at the Ritz. You just passed out on the bathroom floor.”

“I had a concussion from taking that hit from a flying fire hydrant for you. It was perfectly justified.”

“Besides,” she goes on, ignoring him again. “If we’re going to get thrown out of places, we may as well get thrown out of the nice ones.”

He steps up to the edge of the roof, easy like her weight on his back was nothing. “You know what you are, Felicia?”

“What?”

“You’re a _bad_ influence,” he says, and jumps.

The wind blasts right in her face as they fall, drowning out her laughter.

\+ + +

Stephen Strange is waiting for her at the door to his mansion with a small box.

“Not even going to invite me in?” Felicia asks, amused.

“Alas, I do not have the time to entertain guests today, Ms. Hardy. I believe you’ve already been inside, anyway.”

“I heard that was Silver Sable,” Felicia says with a straight face. “When you say you _don’t have time_ , you really mean the inside of your mansion just opened up into some kind of fantastic new hellhole, don’t you?”

“I say what I mean,” he insists, and opens the box. “Put it here, please.”

Felicia takes the jewel out and gingerly places it inside. “As far as magical gems go, this one’s truly hideous.”

“You have no idea.” Stephen frowns at her. “Did it affect you in any way? I’ve been told the temptation is irresistible when it’s unshielded. Especially for certain people.”

Felicia crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “Why does it sound like I should be offended?”

He shuts the box with a solid thud. “I only meant for those who are, shall we say, used to getting what they want.”

Felicia looks up at his face. Stephen often looks either enigmatic or constipated and it’s hard to tell which. “Yeah, well, there’s a trick to that, you know.”

He cocks his head.

“You just have to not want what you can never have.”

Doctor Strange smiles faintly. “I’m sure it really is that simple. Speaking of which, I believe your young man is waiting for you.”

Felicia leaves the stoop and makes her way to a rooftop two buildings down.

“Everything okay?” asks the Spider, sitting on the edge.

“Signed, sealed, and delivered,” she replies. “Thank you for helping me get it here safely. Who knew Fisk is back to hiring undead ninjas to support his security system again?”

“Yeah, that was a throwback,” he says, getting to his feet. “At least the building wasn’t coming down on our heads this time.”

Felicia remembers that. She also remembers abandoning him in battle with the Hobgoblin and tossing out the plan to pursue her own agenda. He had been disappointed (and told her repeatedly later), but he had still come back for her and saved her life. It was shorthand for their entire relationship. She could go back to any point in time and it would just be their default state.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking. We had some good times, didn’t we, Spider?”

“Talk like that makes me nervous, Cat. It’s unlike you.”

She smiles and reaches up to touch his cheek. “You really don’t know me at all, do you, Peter?”

His mask shifts, the face beneath frowning, she knows. “I know you better than you think.”

“Hmm…So what are you up to after this?” she asks when he wraps an arm around her waist and swings them away. “I’m thinking of grabbing a bite to eat. Want to come with? I think I heard Stilt-Man’s in Brooklyn. We should go out of our way to trip him after.”

“Can’t. MJ’s coming home tonight. Actually, she’s probably already somewhere in the city.”

“Oh. Well, tell Red hi for me, okay?”

“You could come over for dinner if you want. I promise we’ll be better company than Stilt-Man.”

“You have completely lost your mind,” Felicia tells him, amazed. “You can drop me off here, by the way.”

“Where?”

“Just wherever there’s room, okay?”

He lowers them both on top of a tapas bar.

“Go on and meet Mary Jane, Spider. I can entertain myself.”

He hesitates and she seizes the chances to turn away and flee. She hasn’t gone far when he catches her hand in his, tugging her to a stop. “Cat?”

She looks back at him. “Come on, Spider. You’ve always been so good at making sure to keep those boundaries up. Me hanging out with you and the very normal love of your life? Tell me you’re not serious.”

“I know, I just—I feel like I owe you something and I don’t know why.”

Felicia bites back a laugh. “You know, I get that I really am just that incredible, but I’m letting you off just this once. Now go home.”

He lingers on the rooftop for a few moments longer but the prospect of being home with Mary Jane Watson is clearly a much bigger draw than wandering around the city with the Black Cat looking for trouble. 

Felicia has never expected anything else.

He swings away, and though he doesn’t glance back once, she likes to think the triple somersault that turned into a headlong dive down the side of a skyscraper was entirely for her benefit.

_“You just have to not want what you can never have.”_

Never again, not in a thousand years, not in a million universes. She wanted to tell Strange that it really _was_ that simple. 

No wish ever came for free. 


End file.
